Once upon a time in Italy
by tangledupinmist
Summary: it is late summer in 1963 and Shelagh and Patrick receive a visitor who shakes up their lives.
1. Chapter 1

_August 1943, somewhere in South Italy_

Dear Lucia,

I hope this letter finds you well. It is only hours since I have left Sicily but I already miss you more than I ever thought possible. These past four weeks have been the most wonderful weeks of my life, despite the war raging on around us. I have never before been to a foreign country, I have never before fallen in love so very much. And I have never before had a good bye as sweet as ours last night.

I do not know how long this war will drag on. All I know is that every day that it is keeping me from you is one day too much. As promised, I will come to fetch you as soon as possible, as soon as this war is over at the latest, and then we are going to spend the rest of our lives together.

I can't write more than those few lines today, duty calls. But be assured that I am thinking of you every second and you will always have a special place in my heart.

Yours

Patrick Turner

* * *

 _November 1945, Liverpool_

Dear Lucia,

The war is over. It has devastated Europe, left so many dead and injured and scarred for life. But we made it. We survived, albeit with scars of our own.

I survived the battle of Monte Cassino. I survived because I had you to hope for, to look forward to. I survived because I knew I had to go back and fetch you.

And I have come back for you. Later, much later than I promised, but I was there. Ten days ago, I was in Messina. I walked the way up from the harbour past the church, past the little almond garden towards your house. More than anything I wanted to see you, to show you that I have kept my promise and came back.

I stood under the pine tree opposite the gate when you stepped out your front door, followed by a child, perhaps one year old. You were wearing a ring on your left hand.

Lucia, I understand that you were no longer able to wait for me. You must have thought that I would not keep my promise as so many of my comrades haven't. Or you may have thought I lost my life in Monte Cassino. I did, in a way. I am sorry that at some point I was no longer able to write to you. I lost all words, all feelings I thought I had. And with that, it seems, I lost you.

I promised I would come as soon as the war was over. There was not a day I did not think of you. But I was ill. I spent the final weeks of the war in hospital, unable to feel the joy of being able to return to you.

But now I am healed and as soon as the doctors declared me healthy I bought a boat ticket for Messina. But I arrived too late.

The minute I saw you and your daughter, I turned around and left, I even boarded that same boat I arrived with, for all I wanted was to leave Sicily, and you, and a dream not come true behind.

Once more, I wish to apologize for having broken my promise. I wish you all the best and hope you have found love and peace.

Sincerely,

Patrick Turner


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Shelagh heard the surgery door close with a loud bang and winced. Patrick, late for his afternoon rounds, had hurried out and woken Teddy who had been asleep in his pram. Shelagh sighed and placed the files she had been about to put away back on her desk. Then she lifted her baby out of his pram which stood next to her desk. She rocked him gently until he stopped crying. Then she shifted Teddy on her hip and tried to continue with tidying up her desk before closing the surgery for the day.

Putting away patient files was her final duty at the end of each day at the surgery. Shelagh never left her desk without having prepared her next work day. She would always compile the list for morning rounds, then take out the files for the next morning's appointments and finally return any remaining files taken out during the day.

Shelagh was lucky today; she needn't hurry. Ever since Magda's departure a few weeks ago, child care had again become a matter of concern. Not so much with Angela who was now attending nursery and often could stay on the afternoon. Teddy, however, was becoming more demanding and mobile and she was no longer able to take him along to the surgery for half a day or even longer.

To Shelagh's relief, Mrs. Penney had been able to watch Teddy for the afternoon. Their former housekeeper had retired over a year ago, but when Shelagh had asked her whether she might help out a couple of hours per week the kind elderly woman had luckily agreed to support the Turners. Thus for the time being Mrs. Penney watched Teddy three afternoons every week and even did a few chores at the Turner house, including preparing dinner. So today, Shelagh would not have to cook and could use the time to play a bit with her little ones.

When she had almost cleared away all files, Shelagh heard a soft knock on the door. She quickly placed Teddy back into his pram and the few files she carried back on her desk. Then she firmly said „Enter!".

The door opened slowly and Shelagh's eyes fell on a young woman, or, rather, girl, not much older than Timothy, she estimated. The girl had dark brown hair, neatly combed into a bun. She was slim and a bit taller than Shelagh. Her complexion was a bit tanned and her eyes were of a warm brown which oddly made her think of Timothy. Shelagh was struck by the very elegant black and white dress accentuating the young woman's slim figure. Something Trixie would wear, Shelagh thought.

"I am sorry, but we're closed for the day. Dr Harris is tending to emergencies tonight," Shelagh said.

"I am not here because I am ill," the young woman said in a thick accent Shelagh could not quite place. "But I need to see Dr Turner."

Shelagh raised her eyebrows. "And why is it that you need to see my husband?"

Now the girl, still standing in front of the door, watched her carefully. "Oh, so you are Mrs Turner, Mrs Patrick Turner?"

"Yes, I am," Shelagh said carefully, still puzzled who the girl was and what she could possibly need to discuss with Patrick. Just then, Teddy began to cry again and Shelagh hurried around her desk to lift her son out of his pram. When she had settled the baby again, Shelagh noticed the girl was still standing in the half-open door, watching her intently.

"Please, come in," Shelagh said, wondering whether she had seen the girl before. She had something familiar, but Shelagh could not remember where she might have seen her before. Perhaps she had been at the birth of a younger sibling somewhere in Poplar, a few years ago when she had been Sister Bernadette?

"If you want, you can leave a message for my husband with me," Shelagh added.

"I am sorry," the girl said quietly, "but I would rather speak to Dr Turner in person."

Shelagh furrowed her eyebrows. Just when she was going to ask why the girl would not trust her with a message, Teddy began to fidget in her arms and Shelagh knew she had to get moving or else he would start to cry and she would not be able to stop him.

"Please excuse me, but I need to get the baby home. If you need to see my husband so urgently, perhaps you could come by here tomorrow at 1.30? It is still his lunchbreak but he will be here and there will be some time left before afternoon surgery begins. Would that be possible?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, thank you. I will come tomorrow." She bent down to lift a slighly battered suitcase placed next to her but stopped and looked up again. "Is this your son?" she asked.

Shelagh nodded hesitantly. She suddenly felt alert, without knowing why. "Yes, this is our youngest," she said while placing Teddy into his pram again.

"So you have more children then," the girl said, more than she asked.

"Yes, we have two more. Timothy, he is sixteen, and Angela is three and a half," Shelagh explained while she gathered her belongings.

The girl bit her lips and smiled a small smile. Then she said: "Thank you very much, Mrs. Turner. I will come back tomorrow." She quickly lifted her suitcase and hurried outside.

Shelagh shook her head in disbelief and pushed the pram towards the door. When she looked back at her desk, she noticed a few files she had not yet returned to the cabinet. She looked from the files to Teddy and back and decided the baby could wait for two more minutes, or else, she would not be able to sleep calmly.

* * *

It was only when the younger children were asleep and Timothy had retired to his room that Shelagh remembered her strange visitor later that night. She was sitting at the kitchen table, checking the maternity home's supply order for next month while Patrick rinsed their tea cups. It would be bedtime soon.

"Patrick, you are going to have a visitor at the surgery tomorrow," she told her husband, looking up from her work.

"And who will that be, dear?" Patrick turned around from the sink, looking at her with a surprised expression.

"A young woman came by just after you had left for rounds this afternoon," Shelagh explained. "She spoke with an accent, Italian, I think. She would not tell me what she wanted; she said she needed to see you." Shelagh looked at her husband intently.

Patrick blew out a breath. "She would not leave a message you say?" He frowned. "I have no idea who she might be."

"Neither do I, Patrick. To be honest, she scared me a bit. I feel as if I have seen her before, but I cannot remember where. She is not one of our mothers, but she seems familiar though. She is not much older than Timothy. I tried to remember whether I had been at her home at the time I was still with Nonnatus House? Or perhaps she was among the group of friends Timothy introduced to us at the summer fete? I feel ever since I have given birth to Teddy my memory isn't as reliable as it used to be."

Shelagh sighed. Patrick shrugged his shoulders. He was tired and was looking forward to spending some time with his wife, preferably without her thoughts being on somebody else than him. Her days were so full of work and the children, especially since Teddy had been born, and he constantly felt that he did not get as much of her attention as he wanted to.

Patrick extended his hand to her and Shelagh gladly took it into both of hers. "My love, you are tired," Patrick said gently. „As soon as Teddy has finally learned to sleep through the night, you will be all well again. And with regard to your mysterious visitor, I am certain we will find out tomorrow. When did you say she was coming? Why don't you make sure you are there as well and then we both are going to listen to her."

Shelagh smiled and got up from her chair. She released his hand again to put the folders she had been working on into her bag; she would not have the children soil them over breakfast. Then she joined her husband for their bedroom.

* * *

During the next morning, Shelagh's thoughts kept returning to the expected visitor. Luckily, the morning was quite busy and time passed quickly. Just when Patrick had eaten the last of his sandwiches, they heard a knock on the door. The Turners had shared lunch in Patrick's office in anticipation of their visitor, though Shelagh had been so excited she had barely managed to finish one single sandwich. Patrick had laughed at her and gladly eaten her leftovers.

Shelagh slowly got up and went to open the door. There she stood again, very punctual, again very neatly dressed in a well-fitted but modest navy blue dress. This time, the girl was not carrying a suitcase, only a small leather handbag.

Shelagh greeted her with a hesitant smile and led her towards her husband's office. When they arrived at the door, Shelagh announced: "Patrick, your visitor is here."

Patrick got up from his chair and walked towards the door. When his eyes fell on the young woman who entered right behind his wife, he gasped and stopped in his movement. Shelagh noticed his face lose all colour. His mouth was open.

"Patrick?" she asked alarmed.

He winced and slowly extended his arm towards the young woman. "Patrick Turner," he whispered, barely audible.

The young woman looked at him with big eyes. "I am Gabriella Spera. From Italy," she introduced herself. "Born in Messina."

Shelagh watched Patrick breathing heavily and swallowing hard. He shook the young woman's hand almost hesitantly, she noticed. It took him a while before he nodded towards his wife. "You have met my wife, Shelagh Turner," he said, his voice still strangely hoarse.

The girl smiled warmly. "Yes, I have met Mrs Turner. She has been very kind."

Shelagh was puzzled as to why her husband would act so strangely. In an attempt to cut through the tension she said: "Why don't you both have a seat and I'll go fetch some tea and biscuits?"

Gabriella nodded and smiled thankfully while Patrick still stood like he was glued to the floor.

"Patrick?" Shelagh asked firmly.

He shuddered and said: "Erm, I am sorry, I… I don't know. I am sorry, where are my manners." He slowly walked towards his chair and fell down heavily.

Shelagh frowned and looked at the young woman. "Please, have a seat, Miss Spera" she indicated towards the chairs in front of her husband's desk. Then she hurried to fetch a tray, wondering why her husband would act so strangely. He seemed to know the girl but given his strange reaction why hadn't he been able to make a guess yesterday?

Shelagh returned to the office, distributed the cups and sat down on the second visitor chair.

"You say you are from Sicily?" she heard her husband ask almost voicelessly.

The young woman nodded. "Yes, I was born in Messina. But I have been living in Milano for the past five years. I trained as a dressmaker with my aunt."

The young woman then looked at Shelagh and back to Patrick. Patrick, slowly regaining his composure, firmly said: "I have no secrets from my wife. You can tell me anything you need to in her presence."

Shelagh bit her lip. She now remembered how Patrick had once told her about his time in Sicily, a few years ago, not long before they were married. He had also talked about a young Italian woman he had fallen in love with. He had even gone back for her after the war, but she had been married already. Shelagh had found the story incredibly romantic and quite surprising, for even though she knew he did have a romantic side, though carefully hidden from most, Shelagh had been surprised at him going back all the way to Sicily. But then, Patrick was the kind of person who would always keep his promises and she loved him for it.

The young woman's eyes wandered between Shelagh and Patrick before settling on Patrick. "So she knows that you knew my mother?" she asked.

"Yes, she knows."

The young woman opened her bag and took out a stack of faded envelopes, neatly bundled together with a green silk ribbon.

"My letters," Patrick whispered.

The girl nodded. "Yes, your letters. I found them a few months ago when I helped my mother clear out our house. It was then that I learned that the man I believed was my father was in fact not."

Shelagh watched her husband become even paler. She was momentarily afraid he might faint.

"My mother told me that my father was an English soldier. A doctor. Who came for her but too late."

Shelagh gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"I was born in May 1944 and my birth certificate names the man whom my mother had married in October 1943. But he is not my real father it seems."

Now it was Patrick's turn to gasp. He swallowed hard and said, voice hoarse: "You are … you imply you … are… my daughter?"

The girl looked at him earnestly. "Yes, this is what my mother told me and why she let me keep the letters."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Shelagh suddenly felt dizzy, as if she might faint any second. But ten years of living as a religious sister paid off. She hardly ever was taken by surprise. Also, she knew by looking at her husband that he was shaken to his core even more and that he would need her support.

Shelagh took in a deep breath. And got up from her chair. First things first she thought.

"I think I better close the surgery for the afternoon. I am going to call for a locum to cover and will see that Nonnatus House sends someone to supervise the maternity home this afternoon." Shelagh took in another breath and looked at Gabriella. "Where are you staying at?"

"I stay at the Religious of Mary Immaculate in Kensington."

"Well, seeing that you are family, you should stay with us. We can't let you pay for your lodgings while here in London," Shelagh said slowly. She looked at her husband. "Patrick, I think you should take Gabriella to the hostel to get her belongings. It is still early and the children won't be back until late afternoon. We can talk at home."

Gabriella looked up at Shelagh. "This is more than kind, Mrs. Turner. But there is no need, -"

Shelagh interrupted the young woman firmly but kindly. "Yes, there is, dear. We are family and please be our guest."

That said, Shelagh rushed out and began phoning several GPs to find a locum. She quickly succeeded and then called Nonnatus House. Sister Julienne answered the phone. Shelagh was relieved for she knew the Sister would not require any detailed explanation for the time being. So Shelagh briefly explained that due to a family emergency – no, no one of the five Turners was affected, there was something she would explain later – they had to go home and Dr Harrison would act as locum for the day. Sister Julienne agreed to send over Nurse Crane and reassured Shelagh that she could call with any other matter anytime.

Patients and maternity home in good hands, Shelagh returned to Patrick's office. Her husband still sat on his chair, still pale, nervously fidgeting his fingers while he was talking about people and places they knew in Messina with Gabriella.

"I have arranged covers for this afternoon," Shelagh announced.

Patrick looked at her thankfully and slowly got up from his chair. "I think we should go now get your things," he said.

Gabriella also got up and the two left Patrick's office. In the door, Patrick turned around to his wife, his face wearing a painful expression. Shelagh watched him with her lips tightly pressed together. It hurt her seeing him hurting but right now she was not even certain what she felt. Patrick turned again, without a word and followed Gabriella outside.

After the two had left, Shelagh slowly gathered the tea cups and pot and washed them. Then she cleared her reception desk and arranged the files she would need the next morning. She was almost done when Nurse Crane walked in.

"Good afternoon Mrs Turner," the older woman greeted. "Sister Julienne tells me you both are called out to a private matter?"

Shelagh nodded. She knew that for the time being, Nurse Crane required no further explanation. "Yes, we are. Dr Harrison will cover this afternoon. But if something very urgent comes up, you can phone our house."

Nurse Crane nodded in affirmation and watched Shelagh finish her work, then take her things and leave the surgery. It was an half-hour walk to their home, and Shelagh welcomed movement and fresh air to clear her head. She still was not able to fully grasp what had just happened.

Patrick had a daughter. Born to his former love from Italy. The daughter was here now. She was Patrick's daughter. It didn not matter to Shelagh that they had only met her an hour ago, the young woman already was family to her. Patrick's daughter. It struck Shelagh that the girl was merely four years older than Timothy. How could they explain this to the boy, she wondered.

Just before Shelagh reached their house, she took a detour and rang their neighbour's doorbell. Mrs. Green, a mother of three older girls, two close in age to Timothy, had happily offered to watch Teddy on the days Mrs. Penney was not able to.

"Shelagh, you are early today," Mrs Green exclaimed in surprise when she opened the door. "Teddy hasn't yet woken up from his nap."

"Thank you, Maureen," Shelagh said. "In fact I haven't come to pick him up yet. I am rather afraid I have to ask a favour of you. Patrick and I have to deal with some private matter this afternoon. We are at home, but is it possible you can watch Teddy until I pick up Angela from the nursery?"

The woman watched Shelagh curiously, but didn't ask whatever question formed in her mind: "Of course. You know I love to have the little lad over. Just come by anytime."

Then, Shelagh walked over to their house. By her estimation Patrick and Gabriella would arrive within the next hour, just enough for her to tidy up the living room, make up the guest bedroom and prepare a fresh pot of tea.

* * *

Shelagh had just put on the kettle when she heard Patrick's car pull up outside. Next she heard the front door and the muffled sounds of Patrick welcoming Gabriella into the house and taking her coat from her.

Shelagh watched how father and daughter – an odd thought, a very odd one, she thought – entered the kitchen. "There you are," she said, voice firm. "Teddy can stay at Maureen's for another two hours and Timothy won't be home before 4.30, so we have some time to discuss how to proceed," she jumped right in.

"But first, I am going to show you your room," she said towards Gabriella, giving Patrick the opportunity of taking a moment for himself. Shelagh took the girl's suitcase from her and indicated her to follow her upstairs.

"I have made up our guest room. If you need anything, please let me know," Patrick heard Shelagh say while she walked along the upstairs hallway.

Ten minutes later, the two women had returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Patrick had changed into a fresh shirt, and had been waiting for them at the table.

He poured tea and waited for Shelagh to begin. "Now, this is an odd situation for us, for all of us," she said, looking at Gabriella. "I am sure it is for you, too."

Gabriella bit her lips and nodded. "I am sorry if I cause you any trouble. I am ready to move back to the hostel anytime."

Shelagh smiled at her wearily. "No, this isn't what I meant. As I said, you are family and I would not have you stay anywhere else. But I believe we should talk about how we are going to explain you staying with us to the children. Teddy won't understand, and for Angela you will most likely be a friend like Magda, our Au Pair, had been. But I think we need to be open about everything with Timothy. He is old enough. Although I am afraid it will hit him hard."

Shelagh looked at Patrick. "I believe you need to talk to him and explain the situation." Then she looked at Gabriella. "He is only sixteen. Too young for what he is about to learn. But he deserves to know that he has a sister. And I am certain that after a while he will come to like you very much."

Gabriella smiled insecurely.

"I suggest," Shelagh carried on, "that as soon as Timothy gets home, you speak to him," she looked at Patrick.

Patrick nodded. "Yes, I think you are right," he said. He swallowed hard, unable to continue.

Then, silence fell onto the three, only occasionally interrupted by the clicking of a cup placed onto a saucer.

"So, Gabriella," Shelagh said after a long moment of painful silence. "You said you are a dressmaker?"

Gabriella nodded thankfully. "Yes, I am. I have planned that while in London I want to look around for work. I might stay on for a few months and then move on to Paris. This is my actual dream, to work for one of the big fashion houses in Paris. But since I wanted to come to London first, I thought I may as well make use of what I have learned. I was told Italian dressmakers are sought after here, so I hope I may find work quickly."

Shelagh smiled at the young woman. "I admire your courage. So far from home, not knowing what might wait here for you."

Gabriella cocked her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Turner. I know that my mother supports my decision. It has helped."

The three fell silent again. Shelagh noticed that Patrick was seemingly unable to speak. After a while, Shelagh reached out for the tea pot, intent on refillig their cups. Gabriella declined. Instead, she looked between the two Turners and said: "I am sorry, but would you excuse me for a while? I think I would like to rest for a little while."

Shelagh smiled at her warmly. "Yes, dear, please do. Please let me know if you need anything. I will go out later to get the little ones, but Patrick will be here."

Gabriella got up and both Shelagh's and Patrick's eyes followed her upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Shelagh and Patrick remained seated at the table. When they heard Gabriella's door close, they looked at each other. Patrick opened his mouth but no sound came. Shelagh lightly shook her head and almost jumped up from her chair.

"Really, Patrick?" she asked, in a disbelieving tone, voice shaking, unable to hold back her disappointment and sadness over the puzzling situation. "How are you going to explain this to your teenage son? What you did to that young woman?"

Patrick winced. Having disappointed his wife was more than he could take. "Shelagh, I am sorry. I do not know what I can say right now save that it was a mistake."

"A mistake? You are not suggesting your daughter is a mistake?" Shelagh replied furiously.

"No, that was not what I meant," Patrick sighed. "Shelagh, it was another time. It was the war, it was a good bye. I know I acted irresponsibly and I should not have. But I can't change what happened. Back then, I was certain I would return and marry her."

Shelagh looked at her husband with misty eyes. "I am just so very disappointed, Patrick. I am trying to raise our children with morals and how are we going to teach them these if we do not live up to our own standards?"

Shelagh got up, pushing her chair back so violently it almost dropped to the floor. Then she began to quickly gather the crockery and put them onto the tray, her hands shaking. Patrick was momentarily afraid she might drop the pieces. But she managed to safely carry them over to the sink where she began to let water into the sink and clean everything.

Patrick slowly got up from his chair and shook his head in pain, his face grimacing. "I am so very sorry, Shelagh," he said, almost beggingly. He approached his wife and reached out his hand for her but she moved to the side so that he would only touch the air.

"Not now, Patrick, I can't. Please give me a bit of time. First of all, we have to discuss how to tell the children. They deserve to know the truth. At least Timothy does. I am not yet certain we should tell Angela right away. Who knows what she will tell the others at nursery."

"I am going to sit down with Tim as soon as he gets home," Patrick said contritely. "It is the least I can do. I am going to explain what happened, -"

"Patrick, you certainly, -" Shelagh interrupted him.

"Please, let me handle it. I am the one responsible for everything and I am going to tell him as much as he needs to know. He is old enough to draw his own conclusions."

"Oh Patrick why couldn't you have at least -, " she took in a deep breath, "taken precautions," Shelagh said and turned to her husband fort he first time since she had started washing up. She gave him a reproachful look, hurt, biting her lips.

"Shelagh," he exclaimed. "You know, -"

"Calm down," Shelagh whispered, "you know how thin the walls of this house are."

"Shelagh," he began again, voice more quiet this time. "You know perfectly well how sometimes our emotions take over. And … want... or ... lust, if you will. It was a day like this. I thought I had found the love of my life. We received order to leave within the next 12 hours, I didn't know when I would see her again. I -" he paused, rubbing his face with his hands.

„Shelagh, I am not proud of it and if I could I would make it undone. But I cannot and I am ready to take the responsibility that comes with it."

Shelagh took in a breath to reply, but then they heard the click oft he front door. The couple looked at each other alert. Timothy was home. Today of all days he had to be home early.

Timothy huffed in surprise when he entered the kitchen and noticed his parents, their faces wearing earnest expressions. "Mum, Dad, what are you doing here? Has something happened?" he asked.

Shelagh looked at him. "Timothy, dear, I am afraid something has happened indeed. Your father needs to talk about something with you."

Timothy looked at his parents, alarmed. Shelagh smiled placatingly at him. "It is not about you, dear. And nobody is hurt or ill."

She raised her eyebrows at Patrick whose face wore a pained expression. She way very well aware that never before had he to discuss something as delicate as this with his son.

"If you want I'll go outside," she said in a low voice, looking at her husband.

"No, please stay," Patrick said. "I want us to be open about everything. Please, let us sit down," he continued and nodded towards the dining table. The adults sat down opposite each other and Timothy sat down next to his mother. He looked at his father curiously and fidgeted with his hands. Just like his father, Shelagh thought, watching both male Turner's hands moving in the same fashion.

Patrick cleared his throat several times before he began to speak.

"Tim, you remember that when you were younger, you sometimes would ask me about the war?"

Timothy nodded.

"I never liked to talk about it much and I still do not, but something has happened and now I have to do so today." He paused and looked at Timothy intently. "Timothy, we have never talked about what happens when… well when people get… intimate with each other."

Timothy winced and drew together his eyebrows in disgust. Shelagh looked at her son affectionately. There was no possibility of sparing the boy details she would rather never have wanted to discuss with him.

"And if this makes you feel uncomfortable," Patrick continued, "be assured that it makes me feel uncomfortable, too, even more, I suppose. This isn't something, ... well, ..." He took in a deep breath. „Now, in the war, things are different than in peace. You live in constant fear, your body is always alert. And sometimes you do things which you would never do under different circumstances, just because you do not know whether you will live the next day."

Timothy still looked confused.

"During my time in Italy very early, after the invasion of Sicily, I met a woman. We fell in love and I was certain I would marry her, but then we were ordered to move to the mainland." Patrick paused, looking at his hands gripped together so tightly the knuckles stood out white.

"The night we said good bye, something … happened. We, well, we got intimate with each other –" he paused again, "beyond what is considered decent between unmarried people."

Timothy now looked as if he was feeling nauseous.

"I promised I would come back and marry her as soon as I could, as soon as the war would allow it. But then… things got worse over the next months. I wrote to her, but eventually had to stop. Then I… I got ill and it took me until after the war to completely recover. As soon as I was released from the hospital, I travelled to Messina because I wanted to keep my promise. But in the meantime, she had married someone else."

"Dad, what is this all about?" Timothy asked, almost desperately.

"Timothy, you have a sister. An older sister. I only, … we only learned about her today. She came to see me at the surgery and we decided she should stay here with us since she is family. It.. Timothy, I know this is against anything that I ever tried to teach you and if you are mad with me you have all reasons to be."

Patrick looked into his son's eyes pleadingly. Timothy had turned completely pale. He stared at his father, mouth open.

"I have what? Dad!" he exclaimed. "A sister? Dad, no. This is a joke, please tell me it is." He paused and blinked his eyes a few times. "I can't believe it. How dare you ever tell me anything about morals or decency?" he shouted, his voice frail, fighting tears. Then he jumped up from his chair and stormed out of the kitchen. This time, the chair fell onto the floor with a lound bang. Shelagh cringed when the chair hit the floor and a second time when she heard the slam of the front door. In all her years with the Turner men she had never been able to get used to all the noise that had come with it.

Patrick jumped up and wanted to go after his son but Shelagh stopped him. "Leave him be, Patrick. He will come around. He needs some space. He may want to be alone or go over to a friend's. Give him a few hours."

Patrick sat down again and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, Shelagh, in what kind of mess have I put us all?"

Shelagh bit her lips. Yes, this was indeed some kind of mess, some real big kind of mess. And as much as she wanted to support her husband, right now, she could not help but think that he deserved to feel bad and needed to find his own way out of this mess. She was shaken to her core herself and needed all her strength to hold together what she could. Right now, she could not serve as his support, too. She would, eventually, but just not right now. Now she needed to focus on Angela and Teddy who were waiting to be picked up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Three hours later, all five Turners and Gabriella sat down at the kitchen table. Timothy had returned just before dinner, not giving away his whereabouts. Shelagh had not asked him, only nodded at him and he had quietly nodded back so she at least knew the two of them were still on good terms.

Just before everyone had sat down, Shelagh had introduced Gabriella and Timothy and was pleased that while her son seemed to feel rather awkward at first, he remained polite and even exchanged a few words with his newfound sister.

The dinner Shelagh had quickly cooked tasted a little burnt, a little too salty and just not like her usual cooking, but no one dared saying anything. During dinner, Shelagh was a little distracted by her attempts to feed Teddy some mashed potatoes, as he had recently begun to eat solid foods. No one else spoke for the first ten minutes.

"So, what are your plans for the next days?" Shelagh eventually asked Gabriella over the odd silence.

"I would like to find work as soon as possible. As I said, I did not come here as a tourist, but rather to earn some money."

"You certainly have a plan in life," Shelagh said acknowledging. "But then, I was even a bit younger when I first came to London..." her voice trailed off.

Gabriella smiled at Shelagh. "Where did you come from?" she asked

"I came from Scotland," Shelagh explained.

"So you, too, come from another country," Gabriella remarked.

"Well, yes and no," Shelagh smiled. "It is another country, yes, but it doesn't always feel like it. I imagine it a lot more difficult if you're from the continent and do not even speak English as a first language."

"My mother made sure I learned English," Gabriella said. "She always told me that I could become a teacher like her if I knew. I only learned a few months ago the real reason why she wanted me to." The young woman glanced at Patrick who had long stopped eating and was listening to the conversation between his wife and his newfound daughter.

* * *

When everyone had finished eating, Gabriella offered to clean the kitchen so that Shelagh could get the children ready for bed. Shelagh initially refused but Gabriella made it clear that she would not discuss and began piling up the dishes.

"Perhaps Timothy would dry and I wash?" she looked at Timothy who hadn't said a word during dinner.

The boy mumbled something unintelligible but agreed and moved to get a clean tea towel. Shelagh watched him lovingly for a few seconds before she lifted Teddy out of his highchair. She would first put Teddy to bed and then take Angela to get her bath, read a story and tuck her in.

In the meantime, Patrick had been called by Nurse Crane. One of the mothers at the the maternity home needed assistance with forceps and the older Nurse hadn't been able to locate Dr Henderson in time.

It took Shelagh a while to put down Angela, as the girl had many questions about their new guest. After her daughter was finally asleep, Shelagh returned to the kitchen which she found spotlessly clean. She noticed Timothy sat on the sofa and went to sit down next to her boy. He was flipping through some magazine but seemed not really interested in it.

Shelagh looked at him: "Did Gabriella already retire?"

Timothy nodded.

"Thank you for helping her in the kitchen. I appreciate your effort. I assume it was a very difficult day for you."

Timothy closed the magazine and threw it on the floor. "I like her. She is not to blame for anything. But I am so very mad at Dad. How could he have done that? And why is it that you are not mad?" he looked at his mother, and her heart tore seeing him hurt so much.

"I am not mad at him," she slowly began. "I am disappointed. And I am clueless as to how to handle the situation," she confessed. "I believe your father and I we will have some rough times ahead. But we will figure it out, I promise," she said.

"Like at the time before Angela came to us?" Timothy asked after a pause.

"Yes, like that. This is part of being married, you know. You will sometimes hit a dead end and be cross with each other for a while but you will be able to sort it out. That you have to learn even as adults." Shelagh smiled encouragingly, trying to cover her insecurity over the present situation. Also, she felt a sting of pain in her belly having to look into Timothy's sad eyes.

Then, a single tear run down her cheek. Shelagh tried to wipe it away without Timothy taking notice but she failed. His face changed into an even more pained expression and suddenly, Shelagh could no longer hold back. Tear after tear run down her cheeks and fell down on her skirt and she sobbed silently, occasionally wiping her face with her right hand. At first, Timothy sat next to her, unable to move. Then, after a few minutes, he tentatively extended his hand and ever so lightly touched her arm.

Shelagh gratefully covered his hand with hers, squeezing it lightly. "I am so sorry, Timothy," she whispered. "There is nothing worse for children than seeing their parents cry." She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her composure. "I remember the first months after my mother died. I occasionally would catch my father crying and until today I remember the utter helplessness I felt."

She looked at her son affectionately. Timothy smiled sadly. "It is alright, Mum. We are all a bit confused right now, I think."

Shelagh tentatively put her left arm around his shoulders. When he didn't shake it off, she hugged him tightly and Timothy hugged her back. After a short moment, he ended the embrace and said: "I am going upstairs. Will you be alright?"

Shelagh smiled at him and nodded gratefully. "Yes, dear. I will go to sleep in a short while, too."

* * *

Shelagh had just pulled her duvet up when she heard Patrick enter the house. She left the lamp on his nightstand on for him, but laid down and closed her eyes. She could not speak to him right now.

Patrick entered the bedroom on tiptoes. She knew he knew she was awake but he would not press her. Shelagh heard the rustle of clothes when he undressed. She noticed how carefully he placed his clothes on the chair where he always put them. He had become so much more careful in the years since they were married, Shelagh pondered. She heard him pad into the bathroom, wash himself and brush his teeth. Sounds so familiar she never took the time to notice, only now. It was different only listening to him, not being able to see him, she discovered.

Shelagh heard Patrick return to the bedroom. She listened to him putting on his pyjamas and felt the mattress dip when he laid down. Finally, there was the click of the bedside lamp when he flicked off the light.

Shelagh heard Patrick sigh. "Everything went alright. None of the complications were too bad. Mrs. Long will feel sore for a few days but she's doing well. So is the little prize-fighter she gave birth too. Has all red hair, just like her husband."

Shelagh huffed in acknowledgement but remained silent. That night, neither of them would be getting much sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

During the next days, an odd pattern developed between Patrick and Shelagh. She would discuss everything regarding the children or their work at surgery and maternity home with him, but never mention Gabriella. Although Shelagh was as kind to Gabriella as she could be and introduced her to Violet Buckle who might help her find an opportunity for work. Moreover, Shelagh would always ask about her days and had even offered to do her laundry.

Patrick felt like a stranger in his own house. He kept thinking about the time when Shelagh had discovered he had hidden his mental illness and the rift it had caused. They had gotten over it and he knew they would eventually get over this, but he could not bear not knowing when.

Timothy kept ignoring him, too, and it pained Patrick just as much. The boy would not greet his father, nor talk to him. Patrick was part angry, part sad, but he tried not to press his son, too. He had failed providing the moral compass he strove to give his children.

What kept him going were the two little ones. Clearly, Angela sensed that something was off, as she behaved more clingy towards her mother, but she appreciated every minute she could spend with her father.

Angela and Teddy were the only Turners who took to Gabriella without any prejudice and it was almost like a few weeks back when Magda had still been with them. Still, this was different, and three days after Gabriella had moved in with them, Patrick felt he could no longer bear the tension at his home.

That night, after dinner, while Shelagh was upstairs with the little ones and Patrick alone in the living room, he picked up the telephone.

"Turner, what a surprise, but a pleasant one. You are the last person I expected. Are you calling about a case?" Ted Horringer was an old friend, probably the only person who knew Patrick almost as well as Shelagh did.

Ted and Patrick went back to the war. They had met in the Army Medical Corps, both being doctors. They had both been part of the army invading Sicily in 1943 and had been working close together almost until the end of the war when Patrick was taken ill and had to go to Northfield Psychiatric Hospital.

"No, Ted, it's about me this time," Patrick said quietly. "Ted, something has come up, something to do with the war. I need someone to talk to. I am sorry, I can' really talk about it over the phone. Would you have the time to meet anytime soon? I am not on call Friday or next Tuesday, if that helps."

"Friday would be fine."

* * *

Patrick entered the pub Ted had suggested and spotted Ted already sitting at the bar. He had a half-empty pint in front of him and was talking to the man behind the bar. When Ted noticed Patrick, he jumped from his chair and hugged his friend tightly. They did not speak for a moment, just watching the other, holding each other by their arms.

"Turner," Ted finally said. "Good to see you. I am sorry it takes a thing like this to finally meet. We have both been doing rather poorly keeping in touch."

Patrick nodded. "Yes, ever since… Marianne died, we haven't done well. Our wives took so much better care of our friendship than we ever did, huh?"

Ted smiled. He fondly remembered Marianne Turner, who used to be one of his wife's closest friends. He patted Patrick on the shoulder and suggested with a nod of his head, the two of them should sit in a corner in the far back of the room. The two men made their way, each carrying a pint and sat down.

"Now, since there is something you want to get off your chest, I suggest we bypass all the usual small talk, alright?"

Patrick smiled gratefully.

"Ted, well," he said and swallowed. "Did you ever think about whether you may have any children you never heard of? I mean, "Patrick lowered his voice," you always were, well, quite the ladies' man."

Ted chuckled. "Well, I hope I took sufficient care to make sure that no little Horringers are running around anywhere." He looked at Patrick intently. "Why this question, Patrick?" Ted asked earnestly.

"Ted, let me be frank. I have a daughter. I learned a few days ago. She was born in May 1944 in Messina. Her mother is Lucia Ventilio, you know the girl I planned to marry once we were done in Italy."

Ted looked at Patrick in surprise. "Patrick Turner! You of all people? I can't believe it. Are you certain? I mean, anyone can just come and tell you you're her father, now, twenty years later."

Patrick looked at Ted. "In theory, you're correct, but I believe her mother; she, Gabriella, showed me the letters I wrote to her mother. Her mother only told her recently and I trust Lucia. And you should see her. She looks like her mother, but when she sits next to Tim, there is clearly a resemblance. She is quite a bit taller than Lucia and, well she does have the Turner eyes."

Ted raised his eyebrows and breathed out audibly. "This is some news. So I take it you are having a hard time at home right now?"

Patrick nodded.

"Well, having married a former nun, one should think you of all people know how to deal with odd familial situations."

Patrick frowned.

"I am sorry," Ted said, "no offense intended. I assume your wife must be having a hard time right now?"

Patrick nodded again. "A very hard one. She has been immensely kind to Gabriella. She even offered for her to stay with us. Which is part of this odd situation. But this is Shelagh. The girl is family, and she will not have it otherwise."

"But you likely are in her bad books right now, I assume?"

Patrick nodded. "No, we aren't. I understand that she needs time to come to terms. I just don't know how long. She understands that men do behave differently when in a war. But she is disappointed in me nevertheless. And it is our children she is worried about. I can't hardly act as a morally fit example of a father now."

"Wait a moment," Ted said and got up. Patrick watched him go to the bar and one minute later return with two double whiskys.

The two men downed their drinks and Ted chuckled. "Forgive me, but how on earth did you not take any precautions? I know that people always made fun of me but I never once contracted something and even though I cannot rule it out, I am pretty certain that I never got any girl pregnant besides my own wife."

Patrick swallowed. "Oh, Ted. Everyone keeps asking this, even Tim. Can you imagine having this conversation with your own son?" Ted chuckled again.

"I can't explain, really," Patrick said. "It was our last night. I didn't plan this. I never thought about it. We got… carried away. It was, well, I mean, she wasn't exactly inexperienced, if you know what I mean. Somehow we suddenly found ourselves like this… and, well, it's twenty years and it isn't as if I remember all the details. But I know that we both wanted it and that now I cannot make it undone."

Ted extended his arm and patted his friend's shoulder. "It's alright, Pat, I didn't want to pry. I am not in any way making any judgement. I have been there, I know what it was like. And I am certain your wife understands. She always struck me as the rather strong type."

Patrick smiled wearily. "Yes, she rather is. She is the stronger one of us, really."

Ted smiled, too. "You did well in marrying her."

Patrick swallowed. "I know. But this is what makes it so hard."

"Consider this for a moment," Ted said. "What if it was her. What if she found out she had a child somewhere from some special night twenty years ago."

"Ted!" Patrick exclaimed. "Shelagh would never, -"

"Patrick, it's a hypothetical question. I never meant to imply… I know your wife. But just imagine, how would you feel? Even if you understood, wouldn't you need some time to come around?"

Patrick nodded. "I can see your point." Then he sighed and got up. When he returned with two more double whiskys, Ted looked at him. "I am the last person to refuse a drink, Patrick, but I hope you know what you're getting into. Your wife isn't exactly on good terms with you already."

"Well then, can't do anything more wrong, can I?" Patrick said bitterly and downed his glass.

Ted looked at him. "Now listen," he said earnestly, taking a sip from his whisky. "I think I know you almost as well as your wife does. And self-pity does no suit you, Patrick Turner. Nor does getting drunk. I believe it is time to get your act together and make amends to your wife and to your daughter."

* * *

When Patrick entered the house later that night, and noticed light from the living room, he was not surprised. It was late, and Shelagh should long have gone to bed. But even if they were not at their best terms exactly – euphemistically speaking – she would never stop caring about him and make sure that even if he arrived home later after a night out drinking, she would see him.

Shelagh looked up from her reading when he appeared in the doorframe. "Shelagh, you should not have stayed up," he slurred, sighing heavily and walking towards her.

Shelagh got up from the sofa and looked at him with a sad expression. You will regret this in the morning, her face said, but she remained quiet. She gave him a tired smile, patted his arm lightly and slowly walked towards the stairs.

"Shelagh, wait," Patrick murmured desperately.

She turned around and looked at him. "Patrick, I think it is best that anything you want to discuss, we leave for tomorrow. You are hardly in a fit state. I think it is better for you to take a rest. And I have to work tomorrow morning, Sister Julienne called. Nurse Crane of all people is ill with food poisoning and they can't spare anyone else for the maternity home tomorrow. You will have to take care of the little ones while I am away."

She turned around and quickly went upstairs.

Patrick remained standing and looked after her. He rubbed his face with his fingers. Then he took a glass from the dish rack, filled it from the tap and emptied it in one draw. All of a sudden, he felt the urge to smash the glass on the floor. He lifted his hand – but stopped. Instead, he put the glass down on the worktop and took a deep breath. Smashing a glass would only make things worse. He would have to clean it up and it might wake up the children, he would have to soothe them to sleep again.

He briefly considered having another glass of whisky but decided otherwise. He'd had too much already and it would be hard to watch the children with even only a light headache if he was lucky.

He wiped his face again and slowly climbed the stairs. He went to the bathroom where Shelagh's scent still lingered, she must have just left. He splashed some cold water into his face, quickly brushed his teeth, consisting rather of gargling with toothpaste in an attempt to remove the strong taste of whisky.

When Patrick entered their bedroom, it was already dark. But he felt that Shelagh was still awake. He sat down at his side of the bed.

"Shelagh," he said pleadingly. "I can't go on like this. We need to talk. We need to sort things out. Please, you cannot imagine how sorry I am. You cannot imagine how terrible I feel. But please, no longer shut me out, I can't go on. Look at me. When did you ever see me drunk like this?"

Patrick stopped but there was no reaction from Shelagh. He waited for what seemed an eternity. Still no reaction. He slowly laid down on his back and drew up his sheets. Then he again rubbed his eyes with his fingers and breathed in audibly. She would not talk to him.

Suddenly, Shelagh flicked on the lamp on her nightstand. She sat up and he noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were all red and still moist, a sight that always caused him a pain as if someone stabbed him right through his heart.

"Do you remember the day you drove me to St. Anne's?" she asked, voice shaky.

Patrick sat up, too, and leaned against the headrest. "Yes, dear, I think of it almost every day. How lucky I am that we no longer have to endure the pain of not being able to speak to each other."

"Do you remember what I told you then?"

"You said _you were more than kind_."

"Yes. And you are more than kind. You are one of the kindest people I know and it is partly why I love you. Patrick, I do love you and I will always love you. But I need to find a way of dealing with my very conflicting feelings about this whole issue."

"That day, I went home from St. Anne's and got drunk," Patrick whispered. "I am not proud of it, I can tell you this. I think it was the last time I got drunk. I thought what if I never see her again. What if I missed the opportunity of telling her how I feel."

Shelagh sobbed. "That night I could not sleep. I replayed that scene in the car park countless times in my head. You trying to be optimistic about the triple treatment. I said _we shall see_. I could not look back, I could not bear to remember you standing all alone with that sad look at your face. I, too, thought what if I never see him again. What if we never get the chance to set things straight between us."

They remained silent for a long moment.

Then Shelagh faced Patrick. "We will get over this, that I know. But please, not right now."

"No, Shelagh," he exclaimed, louder than he had intended.

"Patrick!" Shelagh whispered agitatedly. "Keep your voice down. You'll wake up the children."

"I am sorry," he murmured. "But Shelagh, I can no longer bear the tension between us. I know we can't just go back to where we left, but please, I need you to come back to me. I can no longer bear you being so formal, not leaving one private word or glimpse for me. Please," he begged, his voice sounded powerless.

Shelagh looked at him affectionately. "Patrick, I wish I knew how I could. Please, believe me when I say that it hurts me everytime I look at you and think what I would say or do under normal circumstances. But I just can't." She bit her lips and blinked a few times.

"Patrick, I think you can be proud of all of your children," Shelagh said after a pause. "Gabriella is such an impressive young woman. She told me today that with the help of Mrs. Buckle, she has already found a dressmaker in the West End where she can work for a few months. They are going to pay her a very fair amount and they even have a room she can rent. She will be moving there at the end of the month."

Patrick looked at his wife. "This … this is good news, isn't it?"

Shelagh smiled tiredly. "I can hardly believe she is only four years older than Timothy. She is so grown up and independent."

Patrick nodded. He wondered how his wife had managed to take on the girl as her own daughter so quickly when he wasn't able to resolve whatever challenge the young woman posed to him.

"Do you think," he began tentatively, "do you think once she has moved out, we will be able to resolve this whole issue?"

Shelagh bit her lips and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't want you to think that Gabriella is in anyway at fault. It is not her presence that makes me feel uncomfortable. It is the whole issue of learning that you had a past," she swallowed. "I mean, I knew you had a past, I knew you were in the war and I am perfectly well aware that being a soldier in a war does things to … men, does prompt them to behave in certain ways. But still, I am still not certain how we can ever explain this to our children. We will have to, but I don't know how."

"But Shelagh," Patrick said pleadingly. "This is not your responsibility. I brought this upon us and it is me who has to stand accountable. And I will do so. I am already having a very hard time waiting for Timothy to forgive me. And I will explain to Angela and Teddy once the time is up."

Shelagh looked at him with a strange expression. "If we claim to be without sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us," she recited. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness."

"What's this?" Patrick asked.

"It's from the book of John. I know it may not be of help to you, but it is to me," she explained.

Patrick slowly reached out for his wife's hand. He hovered over it for a while and when she didn't retreat hers, he ever so carefully stroked it with the outside of his fingers.

"I love you, Shelagh," he whispered.

"I know," she replied, retrieved her hand and turned away from him while laying down.

* * *

Another week passed during which Shelagh and Patrick were separated by an invisible rift. Gabriella had become an important part of the Turner household, offering to watch the children whenever Shelagh needed her. Initially, Shelagh had been hesitant, but with all her many responsibilities, Gabriella had insisted on helping her and Shelagh had thankfully given in. Asking for help had never been her forte, she knew.

After his initial shock, Timothy had developed almost a friendship with Gabriella, even though he hesitated to call her his sister. During her first weekend at the Turner's, he had taken her to some tourist destinations and during most evenings, they spent hours listening to the wireless and comparing their favourite music.

And then, just a little over two weeks after she had first entered the surgery, Gabriella moved to her new room close to her work. Timothy and Patrick took her there, making her promise to visit them regularly for the weekends while she was staying in London.

* * *

The first night without her, Shelagh was busy soothing Angela who was inconsolable losing another friend so soon after Magda.

Shelagh, too, felt oddly strange. She had gotten used to Gabriella. Just as Timothy, Gabriella was Patrick's daughter to another woman but she had come to perhaps not yet love her as her own daughter but certainly as a lovely and kind-hearted member of the family.

After Angela had finally gone to sleep, Shelagh went to Timothy's room. The boy sat at his desk, finishing some homework.

"Are you alright, Timothy?" Shelagh asked quietly.

Timothy looked up from his writing. He smiled. "Yes, Mum. I don't particularly like the essay I have to finish by tomorrow, but I don't think this is what you really want to know, am I right?

Shelagh smiled too. "Now, if you feel like joking, you are certainly alright, dear," she said, approached him and lightly squeezed his shoulder.

"I am glad that you and Gabriella got a long so nicely. And I am happy that you are well again."

Timothy looked at his mother. "You and Dad still have not made your peace, right?"

Shelagh shook her head. "No, we haven't. But we will. I promise." She bent down and gave Timothy a quick peck on the cheek. She knew he didn't like it, being fifteen and very self-conscious about being babied by an overprotective mother – but in the privacy of his own room, Shelagh thought it acceptable to show her affection this way and Timothy didn't resist.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Another week later, tension between Patrick and Shelagh still ran high. They tried to be as gentle with each other as possible when they were with their children but when they were by themselves, at night or during the day at work, they only spoke what was absolutely necessary.

Patrick often tried to touch his wife, to make a joke, coax a smile from her, but she would evade him. Finally, one afternoon after they had closed the surgery for the day and Patrick was preparing to go out on his rounds, Shelagh entered his office.

Patrick's face lit up but froze again when Shelagh looked at him earnestly: "Patrick, I have been considering saying something. I held back but I am going to tell you now or else we are going to live like this for another year."

Patrick had been in the course of packing his medical bag but stopped when Shelagh entered. He still held his prescription pad in hls left hand, his right resting on the rim of his bag. He cocked his head while furrowing his brow.

Shelagh took a few tentative steps into his direction and stopped in front of his desk. "Patrick, I think none of us can bear the tension any longer. We have to do something. You have to do something. You were very polite with Gabriella as long as she stayed with us, but did you just once try and talk to her, talk like a father to a daughter?"

She paused, and took a few breaths, intently watching her husband. Patrick held his breath without noticing it. He knew, his wife was not done yet.

"I think you need to approach her. Gabriella. I think she is waiting for a sign from you. That you accept her."

"But Shelagh, I never –"

Shelagh interrupted her husband sharply: "Let me finish, please. No, you were never unkind. But you didn't talk to her. You said good morning and good night, yes. But you never talked to her in a way that she was expecting from you. Gabriella came to London in search of a father she had only learned about a few months earlier. She needs to know how you feel about her, and that you accept her. You feel guilty and you let this restrain your feelings toward her. But she deserves to know where you stand. And where she stands in our life. In your life."

Patrick looked at Sheagh, temporarily at a loss of words. She was right, of course she was right. How did she do it, put in words what had eaten away at him ever since he had first met his grown-up daughter right here in his office?

"Shelagh," he began and had to clear his throat, his voice was so hoarse. "Shelagh, I am sorry. I have never had to apologize to anyone so many times as I did to you in the past weeks. I am so sorry."

Shelagh shook her head again. "No, Patrick, this is not about you. And not about me. It is about your daughter who deserves to know how you feel about her."

Patrick swallowed. Shelagh was right, but how did he feel about his daughter? His own guilt was like a heavy blanket or a thick cloud of mist, hiding what was behind it very carefully.

He watched as his wife left his office and slowly finished packing his bag. Next, he slowly walked out, and was disappointed to find the reception desk empty already. Shelagh must have left, or probably had just popped into the maternity home. He couldn't go after her, not now, he was already running late.

Patrick thought about what she had just told him. While he got into his car and drove off to his first patient, he resolved that he would visit Gabriella the next day, wait for her after work, and ask her out for dinner, tomorrow or some time later, anytime that would suit her.

* * *

Patrick was nervous, but relieved at the same time when Gabriella suggested they should have dinner together right then, that same evening. She had been rather surprised finding him waiting for her outside the exclusive dressmaker's shop she was now employed with. Let's get it over with, Patrick thought, but stopped himself from voicing the words out loud, he was certain it would come out the wrong way.

15 minutes later, father and daughter sat down at a small table inside an Italian restaurant on Old Compton Street Gabriella had discovered a few days ago. When they ordered their food Patrick happily followed Gabriella's recommendation and took the cannelloni. He smiled watching his daughter in a lively conversation with the Italian waiter, and noticed that he still remembered quite a few words.

After the waiter left, the pair fell into an awkward silence. Both glanced around the room while fidgeting with their thumbs and index fingers, a habit, Patrick noticed, his daughter shared with him. When he could no longer stand the silence, Patrick drew in a long breath and spoke: "Gabriella, thank you for coming tonight."

The young woman smiled warmly and once more Patrick thought how much she looked like her mother. For a few seconds, he was transported back to Italy, to Messina. Warm air blowing into his face, the smell of the harbour, of fish and salt and lemon. Patrick sighed and shook himself out of his contemplation.

His past had entered his life again, and he needed to focus on this now in the present. "I have to apologize. I think I never once apologized to you. I have done so to my family countless times but never once thought about you," When Gabriella did not reply, Patrick quickly added. "Not that you are not family, no, you are. You are my daughter and I am proud of you. You are a beautiful and talented young woman and I am very grateful for your mother for bringing you up the way she did."

Gabriella blushed and cast her eyes down for a while. When she looked at him again she said:" Yes, my mother is a wonderful mother and I am glad I have her. When I first discovered your letters, I thought I would never speak to her. I could not believe that she had kept this from me for all these years. And from my father. From… my father, the man I grew up with. I will always think of Giuseppe as my father. You may be my real father, but I have one that will always stay in my heart."

Patrick looked at her affectionately. "I like how you speak about your family. I can see that you have been living in a loving environment and this makes me happy. I appreciate that your mother has found happiness with someone else, even though he died too early. When did that happen again, if you will allow me the question?"

Gabriella almost invisibly shook her head. "Not at all. He died two years ago, in the spring of 1961. He died of a heart attack. All the men in his family have died young, his father and his grandfather, and he had been expecting it. Not that it takes away the pain."

"I am sorry," Patrick said. "How did your mother take it?"

Gabriella smiled a sad smile. "It was hard on her. She tried to carry on, but it has shaken her quite a lot. I felt very sorry, because I was living in Milano at the time and could only visit for a few days every now and then. But ever since she moved out of the house she has been better. We lived in my father's family's house. Just around the corner from my mother's family home, the one you describe in your last letter. We must have visited my Nonna the day you came to Messina. We spent much time there. Once my mother went back to work, my grandmother almost raised me by herself."

Patrick smiled. "I remember your grandmother. She was a very stern woman, she always intimidated me."

Now Gabriella laughed. "Oh, yes, she could be so scary. But she was also very gentle. My mother never directly told me but I understood that my grandmother knew that my mother was pregnant before she got married."

After a short pause, she continued. "My mother never told my father and I think he did not suspect a thing. He was my father and I was his daughter. I think it was very hard for my mother to hide it, also because she liked him a lot. She told me that she has been going to confession every week since she got married. But when she found out she was pregnant she did not have any other option."

Patrick swallowed. He knew perfectly well society's verdict on young unmarried mothers, and he could only imagine what might have happened to Lucia in the environment of traditional Catholic Italy.

Gabriella smiled a tired smile. "I understood when she told me. When I grew up, there were a few children my age, with fairer skin. One boy even had red hair. Everyone knew whose children they were. And everyone treated them very unkind. And their mothers, too. So I understand why my mother did what she did. And after I read your letter I believe that you are an honest man and had married her had the circumstances been different."

Patrick swallowed again. He felt moved, and sad. He could not imagine the ordeal Lucia had had to go through. But he was glad that at least she still appeared to have a good marriage.

"All I can say is that I am sorry," he began, his voice hoarse. "I wish I could have known. I wish I could have been there for both of you."

Gabriella smiled and slowly shook her head. "Let the past remain in the past. I think it is of no use to talk about what might have been. For now I am glad that I found out about you and that you all were so welcoming. When I discovered that my father was an English soldier all I could think of was that I wanted to find out more, and to meet him. Only after I had arrived here, I suddenly got very afraid. I was not so sure anymore whether I should have come. I had never thought about how it might feel to really meet him. And meet a family of his."

She paused and looked at her hands, clenched together in her lap. Patrick gave her an encouraging look and said: "You were very brave and I am glad you found the courage to come to me."

Gabriella looked up again. "That day when I met your wife at the surgery, I thought I must have sought out the wrong Patrick Turner. Your wife seemed so young. Only when I met you the day after I knew that you must be it. I don't know why or how, but I knew."

Patrick nodded barely visible. "Yes, the moment I saw you, I knew, too. I needed to hear it from your mouth, but I just knew. I saw Lucia and everything was there."

"I spoke to her on the phone," Gabriella said. "I told her about you and your family and she wants me to greet you."

Patrick held his breath.

"She is not going to visit, in case you are afraid," Gabriella added, drawing her conclusion from the way how Patrick's face had gone pale.

Patrick let out the breath he had been holding. "It is alright," he whispered. "I think it would be hard. But I would meet her if she wanted to. I owe it to her."

Gabriella shook her head. "No, she, too, wants to let the past be past and move on. But she is happy that I accomplished what I came for. Meet my father and find well-paid work."

Patrick reached out and took Gabriella's right hand, now placed next to her hardly touched upon plate, and gave it a light squeeze with his left hand.

"I am very glad we can talk. This has been a lot for all of us. But above all I need to embrace the fact that I have gained a daughter and one to be very proud of. You have courage and talent and you are a very beautiful girl, too, if I may say so."

Gabriella blushed and smiled shyly.

"Yes, you are. I am very sorry it took me a so long to reach out to you and I want you to know that you are my child just as much as Tim, Angela and Teddy are. I want you to always come to us, not only if you need something. Our door is always open. We are your family and we want you to spend time with us. The holidays for example. It is still a few months, but I assume you will still be here at Christmas? Please, say you will," Patrick said almost beggingly.

Now it was on Gabriella to swallow. "Thank you, - " she paused, bit her lips and then continued: "Thank you, Patrick. I think I am not going to call you father, because I have had a father back home."

Patrick smiled. "Whatever you want to call me is fine with me. But I will always introduce you as my daughter, my eldest child."

* * *

It was 9.30 pm when Patrick entered the house. It was quiet downstairs. Shelagh must already have retreated to their bedroom, he assumed. From outside he had seen lights on in Timothy's room and Patrick decided that he needed to talk to his son, have a long overdue conversation just as he had with Gabriella. His daughter. The longer he thought about it, the more appealing the thought became to refer to the fashionable young woman as his daughter. He certainly could be proud of his children, he thought while climbing the steps.

Patrick softly knocked at Timothy's door and took the ineligible grumble for an "enter". He found Timothy spread out on his bed in his pyjamas, reading a book.

"I am sorry, but I saw the light in your room. Timothy, I would like us to talk."

Timothy lifted his head and frowned at his father.

"Tim, I know what you are thinking and what you want to say. You want this over with and you do not want to have anymore awkward conversations with your old father. But this has been going on for so long and I want it to be resolved now. It is time to move on."

Patrick furrowed his brow and sat down the edge of his son's bed. Timothy slowly turned to his side, still touching his book, as if to indicate he didn't really have time for whatever it was his father had come for.

"Timothy, I am sorry. I betrayed our values and I feel as if I have failed as a father. I failed the daughter I only recently learned I had and I failed her mother. I failed you, because you had to learn about your sister in this way and had to learn that I made a grave mistake earlier in life, one that had consequences for us all. I failed your younger siblings and I failed your mum, above all. I am sorry. I just had a long conversation with Gabriella and we tried to resolve things, that is I tried. I am the one who is to blame for all of this."

Patrick paused and watched his son affectionately. Timothy processed his father's words for a while before he began to speak: "Dad, it is alright. I am glad to hear that you finally spoke to Gabriella, it was about time. All I am worried about now is that you need to get things right with mum. I want you two to speak again. Kiss again if you have to. But I never want to see mum cry again, never."

Timothy's voice had become agitated during his short speech and Patrick bit his lips in shame. His son was so much more mature than he had given the boy credit for. Patrick wondered whether it was due to the boy having inherited Marianne's strong personality or the strict but caring upbringing by Shelagh. He, as a father felt he had the least to do with his boy's maturing.

Patrick reached out for Timothy's left shoulder and patted it affectionately. The time of hugging his boy was long since past.

"Thank you, Timothy. Thank you for understanding. And I am sorry,-"

Timothy's face took on a tormented look. "Dad, don't apologize to me for the hundredth time, go apologize to mum. I am fine, just go to her."

Then the boy turned on his belly again and looked at his book again, indicating the time he had granted his father was up.

Patrick smiled, ruffled his son's hair and quickly walked towards the door, aiming to evade the protest that surely was about to come. He was surprised when Timothy didn't even lift his head and Patrick spotted an ever so slight relieved grin on his son's face.

He silently closed Tim's door and remained in silence for a while. Then he noticed the lights downstairs were still on and decided to get a glass of water before switching them off. Patrick silently walked down the stairs, and gasped in surprise when he noticed Shelagh sitting at the kitchen table, notepad in front of her, drawing up a list in her very accurate handwriting.

When she noticed him approach, Shealgh looked up and raised her eyebrows. As usual, they did not need many words to communicate.

"I spent a very good evening with my daughter," Patrick said while taking a glass out of a cupboard and filling it with water from the tap. Then he slowly walked around the kitchen table and sat down opposite of his wife. He took a sip of his water and went on: "You were right. Of course you were. I thought so much about my own failure that I never appreciated the courage Gabriella must have mustered up to come and seek me out. She told me about her childhood and youth and all the time I could not stop thinking how proud I am of her. She is another man's child, too, the man who brought her up. But she is my daughter, too, and through all of you I have come to appreciate this."

Shelagh smiled. This time, it was a broad and warm smile, not the weary, thin one she had been giving him ever since Gabriella had first entered their lives. She took a deep breath and said: "I am proud of you, having talked to her. I knew you would come to appreciate her eventually."

Now she got up, walked around the table, put her hands on her husband's shoulders and placed a very light kiss on the crown on his head. Then Shelagh began to climb the stairs. Patrick looked after her, he wondered whether he should follow her but he assumed, this had been the closest she would be able to be with him just now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Shelagh breathed heavily. She was standing next to Molly Bevan who was in labour with her first child. Molly had come to the maternity home the day before, already with contractions, albeit very mild ones. It was going on 10 pm and she was exhausted after being with Molly for almost ten hours now.

The young woman, barely 20 years old, had expressed her fear of giving birth very intensely throughout her pregnancy. Nurse Crane, her midwife for most of her clinic appointments, had therefore suggested she go to the maternity home once her time came.

At first, Molly had been afraid when Shelagh had admitted her instead of Nurse Crane. But as soon as Molly's mother who accompanied her daughter, had made the remark that between Mrs and Dr Turner anyone could give birth to triplets during an earthquake and thunderstorm without anything happening, Molly seemed a little calmer.

Another contraction came over Molly and Shelagh let her squeeze her hand tightly. As soon as Shelagh had told Molly about how agonizing she had felt her own labour, the young woman had become even more confident in Shelagh being her midwife.

Shelagh had been with Molly since early afternoon. Luckily her neighbour Maureen had been able to watch Teddy and even fetch Angela from the nursery.

"I can't. I just can't do it anymore," Molly cried and tears streamed down her face.

Shelagh, who usually never was one to lose her confidence, was about to do just that. Despite very strong contractions, pain relief and letting the mother move around in various positions, nothing had worked to coax baby out of the womb.

"Now, Molly, you are doing so very well. Of course you can do it. Think of baby and how close you now are to meeting baby," she encouraged the woman, but secretly began to doubt that Molly was still able to do it.

When Molly just would not stop crying, Shelagh made a decision.

"Molly, I will very quickly step out and get a sip of water. I will only be a minute, I promise," she said and rushed outside. There, Shelagh picked up the phone and dialed a well-known number.

After only two ring tones, she heard her husband's voice, alert as always on the phone: "Turner speaking."

"Patrick it's me," she said quickly. "It is Mrs. Bevan. I am afraid we are going to need your help. Baby won't come out and she is now too exhausted to do it on her own. Could you come over and deliver baby by forceps?"

"Of course, I'll be right with you, dear," Patrick said and ended the call.

Shelagh went back to Molly's side. "Now Molly," she said. "Dr Turner will be here shortly. If baby keeps on behaving so stubbornly, we will have doctor to convince him otherwise."

Molly gave Shelagh a pained smile and began to groan again as another heavy contraction began.

After only fifteen minutes, Patrick rushed into the delivery room. He had already put on a gown Shelagh had laid out for him outside and greeted the labouring woman happily. "Hello, Mrs. Bevan. Now, Nurse Turner tells me baby won't quite cooperate?"

Molly grimaced in pain and Shelagh, whose hand she was squeezing, explained: "Fully dilated for four hours now. We tried everything but baby won't move from his posterior position. Molly has been in labour for more than 24 hours now and is quite tired."

Patrick nodded acknowledgingly at his wife and quickly examined the young woman. He nodded once more towards Shelagh, indicating he agreed with her diagnosis. Shelagh meanwhile had already prepared forceps and passed them to her husband. She watched how he focused on his task and carefully delivered the baby to a completely exhausted mother.

"Congratulations, Molly," Patrick smiled when the baby was out, caught in Shelagh's waiting hands. "You have a little boy. Well, he seems not that little, if I may say so."

Shelagh cut the cord, quickly cleaned the little boy with a towel and passed him over to his mother. At first, Molly seemed too weak even to hold her baby, but quickly recovered her strength once Shelagh placed the boy into his mother's arms.

Shelagh then stood back a little, waiting for the placenta to be delivered and smiled dreamily at mother and baby. Patrick stood next to her albeit with some distance between them and watched his wife adoringly.

He knew what she was thinking about. She was thinking about another birth they had been to together, another first-time mother, another baby that had taken his time, another boy. Their little Teddy. The baby that was not supposed to be.

Another contraction hit Molly and made her groan, shaking Shelagh out of her reverie. "Now, Molly, with the next contraction I need you to push again, placenta is likely to come out then," she explained and a minute later, an intact afterbirth was born.

Shelagh began cleaning up the room while Patrick had retreated to her intake desk where he completed his notes on the birth. When Shelagh had finished cleaning up and was ready to take her coat for returning home, Patrick extended his arm. "Nurse, could you come over here a moment?"

Shelagh stopped and stared at him. For a second, Patrick though she would walk past him and through the door but then she approached him, bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

He raised his eyebrows out of surprise.

"Thank you, Patrick," Shelagh said. "Thank you for being there when I need you."

Patrick knew she was not talking about the birth.

"During every birth I attended since I had Teddy I think of us. I see the joy in the new mothers and I remember us with our little boy. Thank you for giving me everything you have given me."

Patrick almost jumped up from his chair and drew his wife into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her hair and felt his eyes getting wet.

"Shelagh," he said hoarsely. "Shelagh, I am so sorry."

For a very long moment, neither said anything, both only listening to each other breathing, feeling the other's heart beat.

"Patrick, I suppose it lies in the nature of marriage that you can love each other more than you think is possible but that you also can hurt each other more than you think is possible. You hurt me, but I know you did not do it on purpose. You did something twenty years ago that was not proper. And I know I have no right to hold it against you. But I did because I didn't know how to deal with being hurt."

"I understand, my love," Patrick whispered. "And I hope you know that I would never hurt you on purpose. I could not have married a better wife than you.

"I think we should go home now, to our children," Shelagh said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Epilogue**

 _Messina, October 1963_

Dear Mrs Turner,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to you to express my sincere gratitude for welcoming my daughter into your home and heart. As a mother it is the most important thing in the world to know your child, your only child, in my case, is in good hands and safe. When Lucia told me about her decision to go to England to look for her father, I was very afraid. But knowing her and her determination, I knew I would not be able to stop her. I think it is a trait she has inherited from her father, as I remember Patrick.

It seems a bit strange, to write to the woman who has married the father of my daughter, the man I once wanted to marry. This is now more than twenty years ago, a long time in the past, and I am not bitter or sad. I have raised a wonderful daughter and have had a good marriage with another man. Knowing my girl has been welcomed by you, who might have the best reasons not to do so, shows me that Patrick must still be the kind man I have once known and must have married a woman as kind as he is.

Knowing my daughter has been staying with family abroad has done very much to put my heart at peace. Gabriella has told me you have invited me to visit her and offered for me to stay. I feel I am too old to leave my home town, I have never been like my sister who moved to Milano or my daughter who has travelled all the way to England.

I appreciate very much your offer as it once more tells me that you are a warm-hearted woman, just as Patrick deserves. In every letter she writes Gabriella tells me many stories about your wonderful children and I am very glad she has found the siblings she often wished for but never got. God's ways are mysterious sometimes.

After all this is said, let me thank you one last time for watching after my girl and making sure she was safe. I will enclose you in my prayers and will never forget that my precious daughter has found another family far from home.

Yours sincerely

Lucia Spera

* * *

 _Paris, January 25, 1964_

Dear Shelagh,

I am very sorry to not have written in a long time, ever since I arrived at Paris. I feel very ungrateful after you let me spend Christmas with you and I should have written much earlier. But my life here has been very hectic. Thank you very much for introducing me to Magda. She kindly arranged for me to stay at a friend's flat. As it seems, I will even be able to remain here for the time being as my flatmate, Julienne, got engaged on New Year's Eve and offered me to take over her flat.

Since I arrived here in late December I have been very busy, meeting with many people at fashion houses, showing my work. By now I have already received three job offers. I am going to decide by the beginning of next week and then probably have work from February onwards.

So much has happened in my life in just the past year. Almost exactly one year ago I helped my mother to clean out our old house and found my father's letters. It was then she told me how she had hoped for him to return every day and felt so very sad when she received his letter telling her he hadn't meant to break his promise.

My mother was faithful and happy with Giuseppe, the man I grew up with as my father. He loved me as a daughter and I would never have guessed he was not the man I thought he was. I was initially angry with my mother, but after she told me how she was convinced my real father must have died at Monte Cassino I understood. Also, as a single and pregnant woman she would never have been able to find work as a teacher again. Finally, I also understand why she waited so long to tell me the truth.

When I decided to come to London and look for my father I was not certain what kind of situation I would find me in. So I was very nervous. He could just have denied me, or his family could have kept me from him. Instead, I found a new family and you, especially, opened your arms and your heart to me.

I remember the first day I came to Patrick Turner's surgery, not certain whether it was the right place. In fact, there were two more doctors by the same name in the telephone book. I had been to one ophthalmologist's surgery, but he seemed only a few years older than me so I did not even tell him the reason for my visit, he clearly could not have been my father.

Then I went to the second surgery and when I first met you, I again thought I must be wrong; I assumed you were too young to be his wife. Only later after I got to know all of you do I understand what a wonderful family you all are. I was so very nervous to meet my father and even though you were so very shocked that first day you never once let me suffer, instead you considered me family from the first minute onwards.

For now, I can only express my most heartfelt gratitude to you and your family. I hope you all are healthy and well. Please tell Timothy hello. If he still wants to visit the continent he is very welcome in Paris. I plan to stay here for the foreseeable future.

Please also tell my dear little siblings Angela and Teddy I said hello and am thinking of them every day. Please also tell Patrick my warmest greetings and my gratitude to having been welcomed into your family.

Yours sincerely

Gabriella Spera


End file.
